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He studied Elizabeth as she sat half-draped over his thigh. Her features were even, generous. Her lashes looked incredibly long against her cheeks. Her nose wasn’t some puny thing that made a man wonder how she’d breathe in a dust storm, but rather a straight complement to her high cheekbones and pointed chin. He touched his finger to a freckle on the bridge of her nose. Yup. The woman’s face definitely trotted side by side with her personality. More interesting than beautiful, but, even in a faint, strong and in control.
He frowned as he realized he’d seen the look before. He’d seen it on men who operated on the wrong side of the law. Men who couldn’t afford to let their guard down. He’d never seen it on a woman. It was disconcerting and raised all sorts of hell with his soft side.
She sighed, her breath racing up his thigh and rustling the fringe on his buckskin shirt. His lips twisted as his body responded with understandable eagerness. It’d been a long dry spell between women, and if Elizabeth Coyote were a saloon girl, he’d have all kinds of interesting suggestions for her upon awakening. But she wasn’t. His gaze fell to the brooch pinning the lace scarf high on her throat.
She was a lady. The lady who was going to give him everything he’d spent his life dreaming, scraping and fighting for. All because he’d been in the right place at the right time, with a reputation puffed up enough to set her fears to rest. He shook his head at the workings of fate, and maneuvered her so that, when she woke up, her cheek would be resting against his shoulder rather than his thigh.
Elizabeth came to as abruptly as she’d succumbed. It was always that way after her nerves gave out. Sometimes she swore determination alone carried her through when fear said curl up and surrender, but, once the crisis passed, all the will in the world couldn’t keep her upright. Light turned to darkness and she dropped like a felled ox. Or so she’d been told. She was spared remembering that, but she was never spared the waking and the embarrassment accompanying it. Like now. Through long practice, she held herself still, straining with her senses to make out the situation before she opened her eyes and pretense faded to reality.
There was warmth under her cheek and the strong odors of smoke, stale liquor, cheap perfume and male. Of the smells, the last was the least offensive. The steady thump of a heart beneath her ear confirmed what she already knew. She was in a man’s arms. Asa MacIntyre’s arms. The man she’d asked to marry her on nothing more than a reputation and one act of kindness to a little boy. Lord! She wished she could keep her eyes closed forever.
“Are you feeling better?”
The question startled her into opening her eyes, rumbling as it did out of his broad chest that seemed to stretch forever. “Yes. Thank you.” When she pressed to get away, his big hand curled tight over her shoulder, keeping her still. As if her wishes were of no matter.
“I’d rest a might easier if you’d just set a spell.”
“I’m fine, Mr. MacIntyre.”
“Pardon me if I’m not reassured, seeing as not more than three minutes ago you dropped like a log.”
“I’m sorry for that, but I assure you, I’m fine now.” She pushed a little and managed to get upright, but not out of his reach. She set her teeth against the quiver of anger that started deep within. A quiver that renewed itself when she realized that little bit of freedom had been attained only because Asa MacIntyre wanted to see her expression. His finger slid under her chin, forcing her gaze to his.
“Has this happened to you before?” he asked.
“Once or twice.” Whenever she had to screw her courage to the sticking point to get a job done.
“You sick or something?”
“I am in perfect health. You won’t find yourself encumbered with an ailing wife.”
“Encumbered?”
“Burdened.”
“Oh.”
She leaned further back, searching his expression. He couldn’t want a sickly wife, could he? “You don’t sound relieved.”
She felt his shrug all through her body. “Are you given to fits often?”
“I’ve never had a fit in my entire life!”
“No need to get in a huff. I was just checking the lay of the land. A man has to know what to expect.”
“And if I were the sort ‘given to fits’? Would you still marry me?”
“Yup. I’d just have to run things a might different.”
One glance at his rugged face and she knew he was serious, but she asked anyway. “Do you really mean that?”
“It’s not often I say what I don’t mean.”
“Even if I were frothing-at-the-mouth mad, dropping like a young girl’s hanky all over the place, you’d still marry me?”
